Snowstorm
by shortie is back
Summary: Cavity-inducing Sprace fluff within! "The snow is kinda like me. I feel like that sometimes, like I’m falling, and just when I’m about to land somewhere solid and safe I get blown in another direction."


**Disclaimer: **Disney owns, duh. I own the concept that Racetrack drinks boxed wine, kthnx.

**Alex's Note: **Written for the fabulous **Gothic Author **for the **NJL**'s Secret Santa challenge thing. She liked it and you should too.

**PS:** Um. Plz do not send me dentist bills for the cavity inducing fluff this story contains, kthnx.

**Snowstorm **

It's really fucking late. Or early, however you look at it. Whatever. I really should be getting home before it's too late; before he wakes up and starts asking me questions I can't answer, accusations I can't deny.

I'm contemplating getting up, getting dressed, and getting my ass the hell out of here, but one look out the window squashes that thought in an instant. It's fucking freezing outside. The snow hasn't let up at all since last night when it began. The clumps of white shit are bigger than my fist and, from the way they're shattering on the frozen ground, as hard as ice.

I may be crazy, or so they say, but I'm not fucking suicidal. I ain't going out in that storm.

He stirs and I tense, clutching the worn fleece blanket tighter to my naked body. Please don't let him wake up… I'm not ready for this shit. I stare at the bed apprehensively, at the lump under the dark red down blanket that's supposed to be him. He rolls onto his back and lets out an earth shatteringly loud snore. I can't help but snicker despite my current situation.

The relief passes quickly, however. God, I fucked up this time. I've done a lot of crazy shit in my time, I've done a lot of people that I shouldn't have. I'll be the first to admit that I sure ain't no saint, but this? This makes everything else I've done in my life look like nothing. It's practically a law, for fuck's sake, passed down from those older, smarter, and wiser than me: _Do Not Fuck Your Straight Best Friend._ Nothing good ever comes out of it.

The wind is howling outside like a fucking banshee. The storm is getting worse. Fanfuckingtastic. The last thing I want is to be here when he wakes up, but I'm trapped until the storm stops. There's no way I'd survive the walk back to Brooklyn in this weather. The subways have all been closed since early yesterday night and he's the one with the fancy ass car, not me.

Watching snow gets really boring after a while. All it does is fall and get swirled around by the wind. The snow is kinda like me. I feel like that sometimes, like I'm falling, and just when I'm about to land somewhere solid and safe I get blown in another direction. I know that that's what's going to happen with him now. Fuck. He was the best thing that's ever happened to me, and now I blew it- literally as well as figuratively. There's no way he's going to keep me around after this, he'll push me away and I'll be back in the wind, never finding a place where I truly belong. And when I finally hit the ground, I'll melt and that will be the end. This is a really bad metaphor.

I watch him instead of the snow; he's much more interesting. He's a really deep sleeper. He must be if he's sleeping through the fucking maelstrom outside. He does this really weird snoring thing which would be really annoying if it weren't kinda… cute. It's really nice watching him sleep. I like knowing his sleep habits; it gives me a nice feeling inside.

He's different than everyone else I know, everyone else I've fucked. He's the first guy that I've actually cared about in the sack. He's the first person I've ever cared about in general and the first one who's ever cared about me.

We were drunk when it happened; I wouldn't have let myself do such a fucking stupid thing if I were sober. We were stuck in his fucking shithole of an apartment due to the raging storm outside, with no food except ramen noodles and boxed wine. Who knew you could get that shitfaced on boxed wine? Who knew that that weak shit could get you fucked up enough to do something you knew would be the biggest mistake of your fucking miserable life? If I knew, I would have never touched the crap. Who the fuck has boxed wine anyway?

I want to blame it on him; it was his fucking wine after all. When he wakes up I want to act like I don't remember shit, maybe he'll play along and we can put this whole incident behind us and I won't lose him for good. I couldn't do that, though. I can't pretend that last night never happened, because… shit, it meant something to me. I've wanted to do him for a long time… and… I can't just forget it. And it isn't fair to him and… shit. I really messed up.

That's it. I can't sit here any longer waiting for him to wake up. I can't face him. I can't ever look at him again without remembering what it was like. How his skin felt under my fingertips, how his face contorted into a look of beautiful, open mouthed ecstasy when he came, how kissing him felt like spring rain, and toffee, and, strangely enough, the beef-flavored ramen we'd eaten hours before. I can't ever forget how amazing he was, how amazing he is.

I wasn't all that drunk last night. I knew exactly what I was doing.

As quietly as I can, I search around his small room for my clothes, which are thrown everywhere. Fuck. I pick up my discarded shirt, no, dammit, it's his. My pants are hanging off of the ceiling fan and I have to jump to get them down. I miss the first time and am about to try again when I hear his voice.

"Conlon, what the hell?"

I realize suddenly how stupid I must look- bare ass naked and jumping up and down like a fucking jack in the box trying to get my pants down. No, the pants are his too. I'm blushing for what has to be the first time in my life.

"Race, we uh," I clear my throat, "We have to, uh, talk. About… this."

He buries his face in his pillow and groans loudly. "Can't we talk later? I'm exhausted, thanks to you."

I open my mouth to speak, but I'm suddenly speechless.

"Look, Spot," He says in lieu of my silence, "You're stuck here for at least another day because of this storm, so we'll have plenty of time to talk. Now come back to bed. It's cold without you."

Snuggled up against him, warm and content between his dark red sheets, I'm comfortable. The snow rages on outside, but I'm safe in here. I'm not like that anymore; I've fucking landed.


End file.
